


home is behind, the world ahead

by shiningjedi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I whump Minerva and smash James and Lily together on the side, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), Start of Relationship, The Marauders - Freeform, Whump, rated for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 23:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11345637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiningjedi/pseuds/shiningjedi
Summary: The title is from a poem by J.R.R. Tolkien.If you didn't recognise it, then I highly recommend watching Lord Of The Rings ASAP!





	home is behind, the world ahead

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from a poem by J.R.R. Tolkien.  
> If you didn't recognise it, then I highly recommend watching Lord Of The Rings ASAP!

The door closed behind the last few stragglers of the day’s first class – a group of especially exuberant third-year Ravenclaws and Slytherins – and Minerva let her eyes slide shut and leaned against the wall, breathing heavily and holding a hand against her chest.

She couldn’t go to Poppy, she wasn’t in the Order, she couldn’t go to Poppy, she wasn’t in the Order, she couldn’t -

She passed out, just for half a second, and almost re-evaluated as she caught herself against the floor.

Almost.

She was Minerva McGonagall, and she was stubborn.

And she, Goddamnit, was going to get through this day if it killed her.

 

–

 

“We’ll do it in another class, though, right?” asked Peter, as they waded through the younger students to get to their next lesson, and Remus scrunched up his nose in disapproval of the concept.

“Tomorrow, mate,” said James, throwing a conciliatory arm around his shoulder; Sirius smoothly picked up on his cue as peter groaned, giving an exaggerated “neck-slit” gesture as he spoke.

“You saw how grumpy ol’ Mcgonns was today, bud. She’d flay us alive if she caught us pulling anything right now, even if if was with Flitwick or Binns instead of her.”

Remus noted his that friend’s tone of voice was almost identical to the overdone jauntiness he showcased after a full moon, and caught James’ eye to show him that he had realised, and also that he wasn’t going to say anything about it unless the other boy did first. James gave a minute little nod of understanding before whipping around and ruffling his hair subconsciously, completely ignoring Sirius’ good-natured groan.

“Hey, head girl! Can I have a word?”

He hadn’t said it flirtatiously in the slightest, and Lily hesitated briefly before jerking her head in the direction of another, adjoining, corridor, this one completely empty; he followed her quickly, although not without flashing a joking “victorious” grin in the direction of the other Marauders. Peter rolled his eyes, then ducked away with a laugh as Sirius mussed his hair and walked him and Remus on towards Potions with Slughorn.

“What is it, Potter?” she asked with a frown, and James opened his mouth, closed it again, then spoke rapidly, only briefly flashing his eyes down to hers.

 

“Evans, I, you picked up on at breakfast that Professor McGonagall was injured, right?” She paused for a moment, then nodded reluctantly.

“It could have just been an accident -”

“You saw the bags beneath her eyes, she was up all night, she was fighting Death Eaters and one of them managed to hex her -”

“So what if that’s what happened, that doesn’t make it any of our business -”

“ _‘Any of our business’?_ For Merlin’s sake, Lily, there’s a bloody war on!”

 

They stared wide-eyed at each other for a moment, at an impasse, almost too worked up to notice, or care for that matter, that he had used her first name instead of last.

 

James looked away first, then sighed in frustration, a short, clipped sound with a discipline to it that didn’t suit him.

“Sorry I yelled at you, Evans. I just – I – oh, Merlin. I bloody care about the woman, okay? She’s a good teacher, she’s always kind to Remus when – when he’s been sick, she – she’s bloody like a mother to Sirius -” He cut himself off.

“I know,” said Lily softly, then added, more curtly, “and I care about her too.”

“You – okay. Right.”

James ran a hand through his hair and turned to go, but Lily’s questioning voice stopped him. “Potter? What, exactly, did you hope to gain from this conversation?” 

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly, then walked rapidly off to catch up with the others.

Lily remained behind for a few seconds, lost in thought, then left the corridor herself.

She, after all, had essays to read over.

 

–

 

Minerva slowly and painfully made her way towards her office and let herself in, collapsing into the hard, straight-backed wooden chair and wincing as she moved and strained the torn, blackened, and roughly bandaged gash on her torso.

Touching a hand to her forehead – yes, as she had suspected, she was feverish, utterly _brilliant_ – she registered when she lowered it that it was shaking. She would have taken her glasses off and cleaned them to try and make her vision less blurry, but she knew that it was her eyes, not them, that were refusing to focus, and that at any rate she might have dropped and smashed them; she led her head drop momentarily to the surface of her desk, and gave a dry sob of pain before she pulled herself together.

_Just two more classes in the day, stick with it, woman._

She heard a slight noise, and, realising too late that she had left the door open, and internally cursing her stupidity, picked up her wand and waved it shut.

 

–

 

James threw the cloak off them as soon as they had reached their dorm, and punched his wooden bedpost in a burst of high emotion, hissing “Fuck!” as he pulled it back and shook it.

Remus would have laughed, and, indeed, Peter almost did, but Professor McGonagall really had looked terrible.

There was a lengthy, awkward pause, then all four of them started arguing at once.

 

 

“Well, what can we do, really, short of cursing her immobile and carting her down to Madam Pomfrey?” reasoned Remus at length, hating himself for having to be the one to say it.

Peter gaped at him, and Sirius muttered “that wouldn’t be the worst idea, really,”, but James merely groaned and threw his pillow half-heartedly across the room.

“I know, I know, nothing really,” he said, then tacked “bloody _prefect_ ” onto it for old times’ sake.

“Bloody _head boy_ ,” Sirius countered with a rather forced smirk.

 

–

 

“She’s probably just busy yelling at somebody,” a female Hufflepuff said dubiously, thirteen incredibly, agonisingly long minutes after Professor McGonagall was supposed to have arrived for seventh-year Transfiguration.

James looked across the room and made eye contact with Lily, who was looking more and more concerned with every second.

He stared into her eyes for another few seconds, then mouthed “I’m going to go and find her”; she nodded subtly and he turned to Remus, Peter and Sirius and muttered at them to give him some cover.

Sirius flashed a thumbs-up at him, and the four of them swept into action.

James went to stand next to the door as the other three Marauders took positions, and slipped out and started running almost as soon as he heard the explosions and screams begin (it looked like Peter was getting to pull that prank off today like he wanted, after all).

Fortunately, the only professor that he ran into as he on his way was Binns, just as he was about to cut into a passage, and he was half-asleep as usual and almost definitely didn’t even notice him; nevertheless, he was still half-expecting McGonagall to sweep into him and issue him a week’s detention for skipping class right until he reached her office.

He reached out a hand to knock, hesitated, then took a deep breath and gave the door three sharp, quick raps.

No response.

She was always in her office during lunch break, it was almost inconceivable that she might be anywhere else –

Unless she had been sent on another mission already –

No, Dumbledore wasn’t that cruel, he couldn’t possibly be, and even if he were, he would have assigned a substitute –

He knocked again, louder this time. “Professor? Professor? Professor!”

Oh, fuck it.

He would take the consequences.

“Alohamora!”

 

Professor Mcgonagall was lying, unconscious, on the floor of her office; he nearly shoved into her with the heavy oak door when he opened it, but he thought to jump around it just in time.

James cursed in at least seven languages before dropping to his hands and knees beside her.

 

The side of her robes were soaked through with blood, and she was breathing only shallowly, but what scared him the most about the scene, ridiculously, was that a lock of hair had fallen out of her usually impeccable bun. He had always kind of assumed that the bun was practically invincible; it was a part of her, after all.

“Professor?” he whispered, and had to blink back desperate tears when she didn’t respond.

How the hell was he supposed to respond to this kind of situation without any kind of–

_Dumbledore!_

That’s it, he would get Dumbledore!

Dumbledore would know what to do, and he would recognise him – he’d appointed him head boy – and James, naturally, had already figured out the current gargoyle password.

But he didn’t want to leave the Professor – there had to be a way to –

His eye rested on the sleeping, caged owl on the corner of her desk, and he whistled at it sharply to wake it up before letting it out of the cage, having to try at least seven different (increasingly more complex) spells to do so.

“Ol’ Mcgonns” had gotten wise to their tricks, and, given the six-and-a-third years of veritable hell that they had given her, he really would have been utterly astonished if she had not.

“Now,” he told the owl seriously, “I want you to fly right up to Dumbledore’s office – the password’s _codswallop_ , you should be able to mimic that, I’m sure you’re pretty smart – and do whatever it takes, no holds barred, to get him to come back here with you. Scratch his face, shit in his beard, I don’t care.”

It squawked.

“Can you do that for me?”

It squawked again, this time sounding suspiciously like the word “codswallop,” and flew out of the room; James turned his attention back to McGonagall.

“Wake up, Professor, please,” he tried, “because your lovely owl is quite possibly going to do the most magnificent poo right in the middle of Headmaster Dumbledore’s beard, and I wouldn’t want you to miss out on witnessing-”

She moaned softly and moved her head, and James stared at her in shock with his mouth hanging open for at least two seconds before rushing back to her side and watching her with worry.

“How are you feeling, Professor?” he asked gently, just as her eyes began to flicker open.

“Potter,” she mumbled, sounding too weak to even be surprised, then, “what exactly were you saying about -”

“Never mind that, Professor,” he said quickly, and then added “Headmaster Dumbledore should be here soon” by way of partial explanation.

She nodded, just slightly, eyes sliding shut once again, then she seemed to comprehend the situation with a rush and they snapped open again as she frowned in disapproval.

“It’s class time,” she muttered, suddenly a lot less indistinct, and James had to bite back the laughter that suddenly bubbled up in his throat.

“I know, Professor McGonagall,” he said reasonably, “but I was worried about you. Besides, I could hardly hand in my essay with no-one to hand it into.”

She tried to sit up, looking almost guilty, and James inwardly cursed himself for adding on that last bit as he gently but firmly held her down.

“I’m sorry, Professor,” he said quietly, pulling out his pocket watch – the owl had only been gone for less than two minutes – and settling down crossed-legged next to her on the hard stone floor.

“The headmaster will be here soon,” he repeated, as much to himself as to her, and, right on cue, Dumbledore appeared at the door.

 

–

 

James sighed heavily, thinking through the events of the day for the umpteenth time that night.

After they had gotten McGonagall to the hospital wing, Dumbledore had studied him for a moment over his glasses, then informed him that he could go back to class now, if he wished; and James had hesitated, nodded in obedience, then turned around at the door and asked him simply and plainly which Death Eater it was that had hexed Professor McGonagall so badly.

Dumbledore had seemed surprised by his question, but he hadn’t denied that that was what had happened, and James had felt that most curious sensation that he’d approved of his asking.

“Rudolphus Lestrange,” he had answered at length, “but don’t go spreading that about, now, will you, James?”

“Of course not, Sir,” he’d answered easily, mind turning over and filing the name for future reference.

_Rudolphus Lestrange … that’s some kind of relative of Sirius’, I’m pretty sure._

The war kept creeping closer and closer towards them, and he wasn’t entirely certain that he disliked it.

Maybe he _wanted_ to fight.

 

“Potter?” asked Lily, interrupting his thoughts. “Mind if I join you?”

He gave her a quick grin, rather rapidly pulling his hand out from his hair.

“Course not, Evans. Take a seat.”

“Thanks,” she said, and opened her mouth before closing it again.

“You can speak,” he said gently, and she nodded but continued to hesitate for a moment nonetheless.

“Potter – James – I, I’ve been thinking. The war just keeps on getting closer and closer to us and to everyone we know, and by all rights we should all give up on bonds entirely if we want to make it out of this unscathed.”

“But?” he prompted, mildly disquieted at how closely she had echoed his earlier thought.

“But we’re not. Unscathed, that is. And we wouldn’t be anyway.”

“That’s one way of looking at it,” he agreed, staring out at the sun slowly sinking into the Forbidden Forest and turning it to gold, “and another is that if we didn’t love anybody, we wouldn’t deserve to get out of it in the first place.”

“Hmm,” she murmured, laying her warm head against his shoulder, “I’m inclined to agree with you.”

She sat up properly again, and their hands curled around each others’.

A few seconds later, so did their lips.

**Author's Note:**

> I just was trying to write some Minerva whump in peace when this turned into a Jily fic without my permission. I'm not displeased, just mildy surprised.  
> What's that you're saying? "Owls can't imitate human speech"? Well, I hate to break it to you, but I'm not entirely certain that they can carry a letter to any address in Britain without looking at the envelope either.
> 
> My tumblr is @crechemaasters, and any reviews that you can spare would be appreciated!


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